À L'opéra
by ConspiringJournalist
Summary: Life goes on after Will's incarceration. Hannibal's manipulation climax. Development of relationships between Hannibal, Alana, and Jack.
1. Chapter 1

If one should look at the man sitting alone in his grandiose office, the only sounds being that of the tip of a pencil swooping along drawing paper and the placid lull of Vivaldi streaming throughout the room. Nothing ill at ease would come to mind. No outstanding disconnect or veil between the viewer and he who is being viewed. There might even be a recognition of similar lifestyles and perspectives, yet the being sitting in his meticulous suits, drawing painstakingly perfect lines with a perfectly cut pencil, is so much more and so much less than any man.

Hannibal Lecter closes his eyes and allows the sublimity of life that is music to wash over him. Light and air and sound and beauty, yet he is restless, bored. With his plaything locked away, he yearns for a way to ground himself. No more appointments for today; time to begin his purge.

Scouring the Baltimore streets for his choice of pestilence is easy work. After slipping into the interior furnishings building and locating his target who has stayed behind late, Hannibal gets to work. An abandoned warehouse serves his purposes well. Wrapping a plastic bag around the man's head deprives his brain of oxygen long enough for him to pass out. The restraints a put in place and the store clerk is laid out carefully on a tarp. Hannibal waits. Patience, of course, is a virtue. He wants his prey awake for this next part. The eyeballs are first to go; he shouldn't have rolled them. The man begins to struggle, but the attempt is futile. The bonds are too tight. Hannibal wants this rude man, this...this mongrel to see the blade draw closer to his eye. He wants him to be fully aware of the hot, thick red running down his face. The man attempts a scream, but it is stifled as Hannibal swiftly and precisely cuts off his tongue. Shock takes over as hannibal finishes the job. He senses a feast coming.

"Alana, please," the good doctor steps aside,"Come in."

"Thank you for the unexpected invitation," replies Dr. Bloom, "It has been quite a week."

"I would image...would you like something to drink?"

"A beer sounds great. Thanks," Alana folds her coat over her arm as Hannibal hastens to fulfill her request.

"Have you been to visit him, Will?" Hannibal inquiries as they make their way into the kitchen. Alana sighs.

"Yes. Oh Hannibal, I don't know what to do. Seeing this way, it's unbearable. What about you?"

"No," the beer froths into a cold glass, "Though I plan to make arrangements soon. His illness much reach its very lowest before he will be able to begin recovery. Ideally, it will come to that point in the safety of a hospital."

"It's just that these dissociations, they are so vivid to him. I shudder to think what it must be like to live in his mind, ergo to minds of every killer he comes across. Thank you."

"My pleasure," mouth comes to glass.

"What's for dinner?" swallow.

"Langue," glass set down.


	2. Chapter 2

The padding of polished shoes brings an onslaught of stag-inhabited memories. The feeling of sickness is so thick in the air that it is tangible. Will Graham doesn't lift his throbbing head from his thin prison-issued pillow. The throes of encephalitis have made his skin sallow and the usually handsome man took on a shockingly skeletal appearance.

"Good evening, Will," says the good doctor, courteous as always.

"Is it?" mutters Will. He turns his sunken eyes to Hannibal. They are still piercing through the illness, "Why didn't you tell Alana that you had visited me before. She seems to be under the impression that I have been absolutely alone."

"You can never be absolutely alone. Not you, Will. Not even if you desperately wanted to be."

"No, because only death brings that kind of luxury."

"Is that what you have been thinking about. Has death preoccupied your mind of late?"

_"You've_ been preoccupying my mind. I think about you. I think about you all the time, Dr. Lecter."

"And what are your thoughts," Hannibal's head tilts minutely."

"You know," the doctor sighs.

"I should have realized," disappointment colors the velvety voice," I'm sorry, Will. I understand now that this was very inappropriate of me. You need time to recover, to heal."

"thanks to you," Will growls.

"Will your delusions have seeped into every corner of your mind. The longer you nurture these fantasies, the longer it will take to rid yourself of them."

"_THEY AREN'T FANTASIES!" _Will is screaming now. His hands are white on the iron bars, "_YOU CAUSED THIS! EVERYTHING!"_

"Very well, I shall alert Dr. Chilton that you are in need of sedation," a crestfallen expression falls into place,"Again Will, I am so sorry." Heart pounding in his ears, Will watches as the tall figure in the immaculate suit recedes down the hallway as quickly as he had come. The darkness blooms.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: ** Hi, I'm new at writing and publishing fanfics, so it would mean a lot if you guys would give me some constructive feedback. Thanks! Hope you enjoy!

Jack Crawford sat rigidly in his desk chair. His fingers crackling paper as he drummed them firmly on his desk. It was embarassing; first a consultant used in multiple cases locked up in a mental hospital, and Jack still had yet to catch the Chesapeake Ripper. Where was that man. Dr. Lecter would consider being late rude. Moments after this thought had crossed the mind of the head of the BAU at the FBI, Hannibal walked neatly through the door. His silk suit freshly changed. Earlier this morning he had had an, er, incident, resulting in dinner ingredients.

"Dr. Lecter, I've called you here this morning because the topic of the continuance of Will Graham's treatment by you has been brought to my attention by one Alana Bloom."

"I should think that sessions would continue as usual. Will needs a constant in his ever changing life. I believe it would help to ground him," the doctor said sensibly.

"Dr. Bloom disagrees, and I'm beginning to have reservations about this arrangement as well," lidded eyes lower infinitesimally,"Dr. Lecter, Will Graham held a gun to your head and accused you of being a murderer. You may be doing more harm than good."

"As much as I respect the opinion of Dr. Bloom and yourself, I refuse to give up on Will. His treatment is progressing and in due time he will be perfectly lucid and seeing a familiar face, especially one he could confide in, would be a comfort," Jack held firm under the doctor's reptilian stare.

"This is something you need to discuss with Dr. Bloom, but for the time being, I am going to have to suspend your abilities to visit Will. Is that a problem, Dr. Lecter?"

"Of course not," the facade was calm, but rage flipped behind closed doors,"I think I shall visit Dr. Bloom later today."

"Yes, I think it's better to get this out of the way as soon as possible."

"Do I have your confidence that you nor anyone else will speak to Will before a decision has been made?"

"Absolutely, but it would be best if that came sooner than later," Jack shifted the papers on his desk,"Will is bound to realize that something is going on with a mind like his."

"Very well," Hannibal stand up and smooths his pristine suit,"Thank you for calling me here today. It was very informative," fist clenched inside jacket pocket,"I shall take every word into consideration."

"I'm glad you feel that way," Jack stands up as well. The doctor turns to go. What is to be done about this.


	4. Chapter 4

Ah! je ris de me voir  
si belle en ce miroir,  
Ah! je ris de me voir  
si belle en ce miroir,  
Est-ce toi, Marguerite, est-ce toi?  
Réponds-moi, réponds-moi,  
Réponds, réponds, réponds vite!

Sweet bliss. The rich sounds of _Faust_ intoxicated the spotless kitchen. Hannibal continued slicing the meat into paper thin strips. The doctor ingratiated himself in the worldly elevation that was art, even though at times it seemed more divine than of earth. Hannibal took it upon himself to also expose the ignorant world to the sublimities that he lived his life by. This, of course, involved disposing of any unsavory vermin writhing about pointlessly on the surface. He took the coal that blackened his pristine life and offended his taste and pressed it into diamonds. An aria of his own design. Those who were undeserving were punished for their transgressions. Dr. Lecter was a man who chose to see the elegance and beauty in life and disgraced anything that would get in his way. The result: dinner.

"Dr. Lecter? Dr. Lecter?" a weepy middle aged woman sniveled in front of the doctor. An indistinguishable sigh from Hannibal.

"Yes."

"I don't want to die." Sniff.

"You are not going to die," the doctor said, enunciating each syllable.

"But...but they told me I would!" The woman blinked her long, gray hair out of her eyes.

"Who told you that you would die?"

"The cards. They whisper to me at night. They speak in tongues," she hisses

"Johanna, you cannot surrender your reason to a pack of inanimate objects. That a part of your need for therapy."the calm voice of patience and professionalism.

"I didn't want to do this. My children are making me!"...

***  
Three frustrating appointments later, none of which would ever be occupied by the doctor's most cherished patient again, and the phone began to ring.

"This is Jack. Are you finished with appointments for the day?" the agent doesn't say hello.

"Jack, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Need you down here. Got another one of the Ripper's."

"Are my services required?" Hannibal took on a tone of appropriate bemusement.

"I want you consulting on this case. Come on," Jack sounded irritable. Hannibal's lip curled. He was frustrated and his best man was locked up; a captive audience. The agent was desperate.

"Certainly," the doctor hung up. Another chance to see his own work of art.


End file.
